The Beacon and the Brine (Monstrous Cravings #2)

Chapter 1

If only life were brush strokes on a canvas.

Those, I knew.

Those, I understood like an exhale.

However, when it came to the rest of my life, I couldn’t seem to get anything right.

Evidenced by…well, this.

I stared at the mess in the board room, which was now empty of people.

Stacks of stapled papers were covered by the coffee that had spilled all over everything, and the room full of prestigious board members had raced out en masse after they were splattered with it too.

I rubbed at the paint stain on my wrist, right where the long sleeve almost covered it.

My father wanted a business shark for his eldest and only son, someone who would take over Albatross Industries.

The communication empire was one that had passed down through our family for generations.

And the Durand family would not tolerate anything less than perfection. Particularly my father.

Clearly, I was excelling.

I heaved a sigh and began to collect the sopping papers off the table.

My father had ushered everyone out of the board room, guaranteed to start smoothing ruffled feathers.

He’d tried me in role after role in this company, but usually something ended up on fire.

And then my mother and father would heave their collective sigh, one filled with a soul-weary disappointment.

Which made it clear that was all I’d ever amount to.

I tossed wads of sopping paper into the nearby trash can, which only held sundry things like toothpicks or tissues.

Looked like it’d be pulling double duty today.

Shame prickled across my skin, the feeling creeping in like always.

When my father came back in, guaranteed I’d be informed I was being transferred out of yet another job in this company.

Who knew where they’d put me next.

The puddle of coffee on the table formed a swirl, and I dipped my finger in it, extending the swirl further, like ink crawling across parchment. I wasn’t accident-prone, per se. More like…absentminded, I guess.

Colors, lines, shapes commanded my focus, but art wasn’t a pursuit for a Durand.

No, board meetings were my future, in some incarnation.

I snapped to attention, realizing I’d been swirling the coffee into patterns on the table.

Right. I rushed over to the cabinets and pulled out the paper towels from their hiding spot in the back.

Watching them soak up the coffee only marginally distracted me from the fact I’d failed to live up to the Durand name again.

I wiped up the rest of the table, needing to atone in some way.

I already knew I’d be getting the silent treatment from my family for a spell after this stunt.

That was how it always went. I’d been ignored so much growing up that I sometimes wondered if I had the power to turn invisible.

A cough sounded at the doorway, and I froze.

My father, Angus Durand, stood there, looming like a specter.

His features were firm, proud, forbidding, every bit the figurehead he wanted me to become. And his dark eyes flashed, not with the disappointment I’d expected, but something else. Something that made my stomach churn.

“Elrich, it’s time we had a talk,” Angus stated, his tone like night-chilled granite. I often imagined him like a statue carved from ice, one brought to life. The reality wasn’t far off for him and my mother.

“You’re no longer a fresh teenager,” my father said, resting his fingertips on the surface of the table. He lifted them up and grimaced. Some coffee residue remained.

“It’d be sort of odd if I was,” I commented. “Just hit pause on the whole aging thing.”

My father glowered back. Right, my flippant remarks weren’t welcome here.

“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the plethora of empty ones, since the board members had all fled from the great and terrible foe, coffee. “Natalie took everyone to the conference room down the hall, and they’re going to chat amongst themselves for a bit while we recollect.”

My stomach flip-flopped. Twenty-three years, and I still hadn’t managed to find a way to garner my parents’ approval. At this point, the prospect looked grim.

I took the nearest seat, because I had the feeling whatever my father was going to say would knock me square in the sternum. Even though they were all padded leather, top-of-the-line chairs, the cushion beneath me felt like a rock.

Angus Durand didn’t take a seat. No, he stood, looming over me, the way he had my entire life.

“I hoped we could find you a position in Albatross Industries, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” he said, crossing his arms.

Did that mean…I could pursue something else? My heart skipped a beat, hope bubbling to the surface. I’d wanted to be an artist my whole life, and at every turn my parents, my extended family, had stonewalled me from that dream. Durands didn’t engage in “frivolous wastes of time.”

Except nothing about painting was frivolous to me. I’d take any canvas—from stretched panels to building walls. Anywhere to let the explosion brimming inside me escape.

“Frederick Triton contacted me awhile ago,” he started, and I tensed.

I knew the name, albeit a newer one, because families like ours ran in similar circles.

Most days, I loathed the wealth we had. And then guilt flushed through me all over again, because so many would kill for the hoard we’d accumulated.

I wished we could give so much of it away, live more modestly.

We didn’t need most of what we had, while so many people in Peregrine City struggled to find housing or a warm meal.

I stared at my hand. I’d missed another paint spot when I’d scrubbed down last night.

“I told him no back then. It was clear he wanted a tie to our family, a bridge of sorts.”

My brow wrinkled. Had I missed something my father said? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“He has a daughter about your age,” Angus continued. “I don’t think there’s going to be a position for you here at Albatross. Not one where I feel confident handing the reins over. I believe we should entertain Frederick’s proposal.”

Ice slithered down my veins. “His proposal would be…?”

“A permanent connection between our families. You might not be an asset to Albatross Industries, but securing some of Triton’s wealth would help the Durand name,” Angus continued.

My stomach sank. I didn’t like the direction this was going. “Might not be an asset” drove a stake through my chest too. “I’m sure if I tried a different position, I’d be better at it. What about answering phones? Some sort of customer service role?”

Angus’s lip curled in a sneer. “No son of mine will be answering phones. We’ve tried you in a variety of management positions, but every time, we end up in situations like this.

” He gestured at the emptied out board room.

“No, I think meeting Triton’s daughter would be a good idea.

Arielle’s a beautiful girl, and it’s not like you’re seeing anyone. ”

That was what I feared.

“What are you implying?” I asked, drumming my fingers on my thigh.

The resolve in my father’s gaze, as if his will would always be adhered to, sent a frisson of cold through me.

Because truth be told, I’d been chasing his approval for so long that I didn’t know another path.

They’d made sure my assets were tied to theirs, so I wouldn’t have the freedom to start over as an artist. Not the resources or the know-how.

Yet I was tempted.

“I’m stating that we’ll set up a meeting between you and Triton’s daughter. And by the end of it, hopefully we’ll have a new, happy union on the horizon.” Angus lifted his chin, as if daring me to rebel.

I swallowed hard. “So an arranged marriage.”

The words landed stark in the air, a reality I’d never considered.

My whole life, I’d been told I was following in my father’s footsteps.

That I’d take over Albatross Industries once I was old enough.

I’d seen other marriages of convenience in the society we mingled in.

Peregrine City’s wealthiest. Well, wealthiest humans, at least. My parents had consorted with Human First on a regular basis, and they made their dislike of monsters clear.

I couldn’t understand why.

The most beautiful paintings and pictures had variety—shapes and colors of all types. And the hate Human First preached had never settled well with me. Just another reason I didn’t fit in with my parents and their peers.

I scrubbed my face with my palms, which smelled like the coffee I’d been cleaning up. The sharp scent wasn’t enough to break through the haze that settled over me, though, like I waded through a dream that would soon turn into a nightmare.

“All we’re asking is for you to meet Arielle,” my father said, his voice insidiously light. “She’s a beauty. I’m sure sparks will fly.”

I licked my lips, swallowing back the questions bubbling up inside me.

Rebellion on my part would be met with consequences.

That was the way my efforts always ended up.

The earliest time that stood out was when I’d pushed back on etiquette lessons, and they’d fired my favorite housekeeper as a result.

The one who’d snuck me chocolates, who’d sung me lullabies when I was younger.

As I aged, the consequences grew sharper and more severe.

“Fine,” I said. “A meeting.”

Even agreeing to as much tasted like ash on my tongue. Guaranteed, we wouldn’t be given an option. Our fathers were clearly planning our arrangement like we were pawns on a chessboard. Since I’d failed at following in Angus’s footsteps at Albatross, he’d decided I’d be of better use sold off.

A lump formed in my throat, one he wouldn’t approve of. I’d always been too sensitive for him. Too emotional.

Men don’t cry.

“You can head home for the rest of the day,” he said. “I’ll bring the cleaning staff in to finish up here. We can discuss more about your future tonight.”

My future.

Which I had no part of. No say in.

I pushed up from my seat and bobbed my head in a nod, shocked my legs could hold me upright. My hands balled into fists as I strode away, the melancholy settling inside me, a black void that some days I worried would swallow me whole.

He didn’t say goodbye, and I didn’t either as I exited the room. The hallway ached with a pristine silence that filtered in through my veins right now. The gold cage I’d been trapped in my entire life wouldn’t be opened.

No, if I agreed to this arranged marriage, I’d be stepping into another one.

I strode through the halls, all paste walls and fluorescent lights and a sterility that seeped inside my skin more and more every day I spent inside it.

My footsteps echoed as I headed to the elevator, and thankfully no one else was in there with me for the ride down.

I leaned my head against the wall and looked up at the gold accents, the polished black of the rest of the elevator cab.

The ding, ding, ding echoed in my ears as I descended to the ground floor.

When it opened, I stepped into the polished foyer, filled with artificial plants, cold marble, and more soul-soaking whiteness in varying shades. The receptionists remained busy at the desk, but I wouldn’t stop and chat. Not while this anguish crept up inside me, begging for release.

I pushed the glass doors open and stepped outside. The sweet breeze beckoned me in one direction.

If I couldn’t lose myself in a painting, there was one other place I could find blissful surrender.

I hopped in my car and headed for the sea.